Of Mine

The sun rises, again and again it rises in your window and you walk down the avenues with your head raised and your eyes closed, you do not stumble. Marvel at the feeling of being alive several days in a row and the Darkness feels so far away. You feel your limbs again, feel your skin, feel your heart beat in your chest. The dog digs in your bed and sleeps soundly as you work; when you come home at the end of the day, a saxophone plays from an open window like a cliché and you swallow it whole, there was a picture in a magazine of cherry blossoms and it made you shake in giggles.

You are not out of the woods, yet, do not fool yourself. You are offered a moment's reprieve, a temporary dose of an anodyne, but it washes your sinuses clear of sorrow and you'll take it. I woke in words today, I sat at the typewriter and poured scattered bits of art onto 4th street, while visions of New York streamed on the screen like a nudge, like a wink in my direction and a reminder of all the things I've loved.

I never didn't love you. The woods get so thick sometimes, they get dark and thorny and horrendous, they try to drown out magic and memory in one fell swoop and try to convince me I don't know what I'm doing but it isn't true. I never didn't love you. And every day I'm with you, I have won.